


Soul Linked

by DisguisedasInnocent



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3422270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisguisedasInnocent/pseuds/DisguisedasInnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Soul mark. A mark shared between two united souls, to announce and proclaim their right to one another’s bodies and hearts. Clarke's mark appears early, branded into her skin, in a mixture of thick lines and deep swirls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul Linked

There’s a symbol curled around the top of Clarke’s right bicep, black lines etched into the surface of her skin in a series of interconnecting swirls, contained within thick black lines that form pincers. The symbol is large and crude as if drawn by an unsteady hand. Yet when Clarke’s fingers rub across the mark, they pulse with power and heat. Clarke remembers the mark growing on her skin, the outer lines appearing first over a number of weeks, and then other months the intricate inner swirls becoming visible. She remembered the wonder that grew in her chest at the sight of the marks, and the frown that marred her Mother’s lips because of them.

 

Clarke remembered tugging her sleeves down to cover her biceps, hiding the marks behind clothes, until the act of wearing a tank top became foreign and unnatural. Outside of Abby’s watchful eyes, Clarke’s fingers often reached up to smooth a finger across her skin, to trace the edge of the symbol, and wonder about her counterpart – if they existed.

 

On the evening after her sixteenth birthday, Clarke stood in front of the tattooist. A man with lines of taut age pulled across his face, scratched into the surface of his skin, which showed the weariness of his limbs. “What can I do for you Clarke?” The man asked with a slight lift of his eyebrow. “I am right in thinking you want a tattoo?”

 

“Yes.” Clarke murmured her voice quiet and unsure for a moment, the nerves thick in her throat, and her heart thumping loud in her ears. “And information.”

 

“Ask me what you want to know,” The man muttered as he pulled a small bag out from underneath his desk. “And I can prepare my tools for the process.”

 

“Does anyone on the station have a tattoo like this?” Clarke inquired as she pulled the edge of her shirt up along her arm and tucked it up on her shoulder.

 

“No.” The man answered immediately. “Not unless they applied it with their own hands, and the arc of the spirals would say otherwise.”

 

“Oh.” Clarke swallowed hard. “Never mind then, it was a long shot anyway.”

 

“What are you wanting Miss Griffin?” The man asked. “And where do you want it.”

 

Clarke tugged up the left arm of her shirt. “I want a Griffin,” Clarke said rubbing her fingers across her bicep. “Here where the other one rests on my right arm – a symbol of my family, of strength and courage, bold and simple.”

 

“Interesting choice little Miss Griffin.” The tattooist commented as he rubbed down the girl’s skin. “Especially when I know your Mother does not approve of the markings.”

 

“My Mother doesn’t have a say on what goes onto my skin any more.” Clarke reminded the man, sucking in a deep breath as the needle began to whirr. “This is for me.”

 

*

 

Lexa masked the sound of her footsteps when she approached the opening of Clarke’s tent. Her eyes peered through the fabric of stitched animal leather – a gift from her people as a sign of Clarke’s position as Leader of the Sky People – in search of the familiar frame of the other woman. Lexa watched as Clarke stood from her cot, the shadows growing when the woman approached the fire, bending to place another log into the burning pit. Lexa pulled the edge of the tent’s opening up swiftly and stepped through the gap without making a noise.

 

The dark haired woman’s eyes widened at the sight of Clarke’s pale flesh revealed to her eyes due to the blonde haired woman’s half-dressed nature. “I apologise.” Lexa mumbled as she turned on her heel to face the corner of the room. “I did not know you were undressing. I should have announced myself outside.”

 

Clarke chuckled and tugged a thin top down to cover her torso. The neck cut a deep angle across her chest and the straps that held the shirt up hung loosely off her shoulders but the fabric remained soft despite obvious usage. “Thank you for the clothes, and the tent.”

 

“You required something befitting of a Leader Clarke, I’m honoured to be able to provide it.” Lexa answered before turning to face Clarke. “There are some matters I wish to discuss before the meeting tomorrow, if you are willing to talk?”

 

“Of course,” Clarke said with a gentle smile as she moved to sit on the edge of her bed. “What do I need to know?”

 

Lexa’s eyes trailed across Clarke’s face as she begun to speak, listing the details of the other leaders grouping together inside the village, emphasising their customs and expectations. However, once Lexa’s eyes dipped to the tops of Clarke’s shoulders, and then down to her arms, her words stopped suddenly.

 

“Lexa, is something wrong?” Clarke questioned in the face of the woman’s sudden silence.

 

“That tattoo.” Lexa murmured, striding across the tent to kneel at Clarke’s side. “Where did you get it?”

 

“Oh,” Clarke swallowed; her cheeks flushed pink as she lifted her left hand to rub across her bicep. “I’ve had it since I was thirteen; it grew on my skin, like the old stories.”

 

“How many summers ago was that Clarke?” Lexa asked her voice and tone pressing for answers, her eyes shining with desperation and desire. “Please.”

 

“Six.” Clarke answered quietly. “Roughly six summers ago. Six years to me.”

 

“Oh.” Lexa breathed out sitting backwards on her haunches to look upwards into Clarke’s eyes. “And the other one was that… the same?”

 

“No.” Clarke murmured her eyebrows furrowing in confusion at Lexa’s questioning. “I was sixteen when I got that one, given to me by the Ark’s tattooist.”

 

“Three summers.” Lexa wrapped her tongue around the words and stared upwards at Clarke in wonder.

 

Her fingers reached to the straps and buckles of her jacket, undoing the clasps that held her armour onto her body, beginning to undress. Clarke sat and watched in amazement as Lexa tore the armour away from her skin to reveal softly tanned flesh and thick bands of muscles tensing underneath her skin. However, once the dark haired woman tugged her shirt upwards and threw it down beside her body, leaving her torso bare except for the bindings around her chest, the air truly rushed out of Clarke’s lungs.

 

On Lexa’s right bicep there sat the same intricate pattern of bold lines and swirls, drawn into the woman’s flesh in tentative lines, etched into her skin with thick ink. Sitting on Lexa’s left arm a Griffin wrapped around the thick band of muscle – the same Griffin that sat on Clarke’s skin.

 

“What does…?” Clarke breathed out as she lifted her hand to press her fingers against Lexa’s skin. “What does this mean?”

 

“I gained the first mark at fourteen summers,” Lexa mumbled. “As my right of passage between apprenticeship and warrior true, it was a proud day in my life, and Anya etched me. The second came over night at seventeen summers, it burned into my flesh quickly, and when the next morning there was an image in my skin, the healers looked and announced it a soul mark. A mark shared between two united souls, to announce and proclaim their right to one another’s bodies and hearts. There have been few soul marks in our history Clarke.”

 

“You mean that we’re soulmates.” Clarke shook her head and smiled ruefully. “We’re soulmates, that’s… that’s odd.”

 

“Our souls are bonded yes.” Lexa muttered as she rubbed her thumb across the Griffin born proudly on Clarke’s skin. “I’d fought the idea of an attraction to you Clarke, now it seems that I was mistaken to do that.”

 

“I think,” Clarke mumbled in awe. “I can forgive you.”

 

“Might I kiss you Clarke?” Lexa asked, her voice quivering with nerves as she shifted to sit upright in front of Clarke. “To see how it feels?”

 

“Yes.” Clarke answered, curling her fingers around Lexa’s jaw, cradling the woman’s face as she pressed their mouths together.


End file.
